CHAPTER XVII.

_DARK DAYS._

Home at last!--the house looking as usual; the butler and footman ready to admit their mistress on her return.

Yes, the master of the house had returned, she was informed; he was upstairs waiting for her. Odeyne drew a deep breath of relief. Somehow she had had an awful presentiment creeping over her that she would find Desmond gone--where or why she could not have said.

With a sense of unspeakable relief she mounted the stairs, but before she had reached her room she was met by a message from the nursery.

"Master Guy is rather poorly. Hannah says will you please come and see him at once? She wanted to tell you before you left, but you did not come to the nursery as usual, and had gone before she knew."

Odeyne's heart smote her. For once in her life she had omitted her parting visit to the child before starting forth for her evening's entertainment. Beatrice's loss, coupled with the strange and disquieting discovery as to her own jewels, had for the moment driven all else from her mind. She had not remembered the nursery visit till she was just about to enter the carriage, and then Beatrice had said almost sharply--

"Oh, never mind. The boy will survive the loss of one kiss. We have more important matters on hand to-night than cuddling babies. It is high time we showed ourselves. You cannot go back now."

So Odeyne had not seen the child since afternoon, and was quite unprepared for the news of indisposition.

Without pausing at her own door she went straight up to the nursery, to find the boy wide awake, fretting and a little feverish. Hannah was disturbed, because Guy was generally so bright and well.

"But there, ma'am," she said, "it's this nasty London does it. The blessed lamb has been used all his life to be out of doors half his time. How can he be expected to thrive cooped up in hot rooms and baking streets?"

This was exactly Odeyne's feeling. Since the hot weather had set in with such unwonted sultriness she had been very anxious about the child. She was not surprised to see him a little out of sorts. It did not make her very anxious, for it seemed to her a thing to be expected. But she did make a resolve there and then that Guy at least should go home to the Chase upon the morrow. Whether she could do so immediately was a point upon which she must consult Desmond, but the boy should leave London at once, and Cissy would look after him and see that no harm befell him till her return. Desmond had been speaking of returning home very soon for some little while now. Surely after to-night they might safely go back, and leave behind them, like a bad dream, all these cares and worries which had of late gathered round them.

Odeyne kissed and crooned over the little crib till Guy began to be drowsy, soothed by her presence, and weary with his long vigil. The nursery was very hot. Odeyne sent for ice, and by a judicious arrangement of windows and doors soon had a better atmosphere about the boy. She believed he would sleep now, and to-morrow he should go home. She would send a letter to Guy and Cissy, and they would be father and mother to him for a little while, if she could not accompany him. How good it was to picture Guy so near! What a difference it would make to her. He was always such a help and comfort--a tower of strength when there was need. It hardly even struck her as strange now that she should think rather of the brother than the husband, as a stay and support at this time. There had been that about Desmond of late which had put it out of her power to regard him as any bulwark between her and the waves of anxiety and trouble.

She descended the stairs to her room. Desmond was there. His face was deadly pale. There was a strange, hunted look in his eyes, and yet, as she approached him with a slight exclamation of concern, his thin lips tried to form themselves into a natural smile, as though to allay anxiety on his account.

"Desmond, dear! are you ill? You look worn out. Why did you not go to bed when you came in? That is the only place you are fit for."

Her eyes wandered round the room as she spoke, and noted certain signs of disorder. They fell upon a portmanteau strapped up as if for immediate travelling. Desmond, too, was not in the clothes he had left the house in that morning. He was in an inconspicuous travelling suit of grey tweed. He was holding his pocket-book in his hand.

"I have some work still to see to, dearest," he said. "There is a little hitch in some of our business matters, and I have to go off at once to set things right. What money have you in the house? It is too late to get a cheque cashed to-night; but give me what you have, and I will leave you a cheque to present at the bank first thing in the morning; and perhaps you had better go home then, and wait for me there."

"Oh, Desmond! that is just what I am longing to do! The child is not well; I want to take him home. But can't you come with us, dear? I don't like leaving you here."

A strange little spasm passed over Desmond's face.

"I shall not be here. I have to go away on business immediately; but I will join you at the Chase as soon as ever I can--trust me for that. Look here, Odeyne; you just have Alice down, and get packed up as sharp as ever you can, and be off by the first train. It will be far the best thing for you and the boy both. Take everything that belongs to us with you, for I shall write and give up the house immediately; and call at the bank on your way to the station, and draw out a good sum to carry on with. Give me all that you have, and I think I'll have your jewels to take care of, too. I may perhaps----"

"Oh, Desmond, I must tell you about that! Something rather terrible has happened. Beatrice has been robbed of her jewels, and a great many of mine--nearly all my diamonds--have been taken too, and false ones left in their place. I don't know when it can have happened, for I should not have known the difference if Beatrice had not found it out."

A strange grey pallor overspread Desmond's face, and he uttered a startled exclamation.

"What!" he cried; "tell me again!"

Odeyne told him all, not surprised that he should be horrified and amazed, yet feeling that she did not entirely understand his frame of mind. When he had heard her to the end he exclaimed sharply--

"And where is Garth? Let him be called at once."

"He had not come back when I left home," said Odeyne. "Alice was asking me if I had had any message from you about him. The servants would know if he had come in since."

"Find out instantly!" said Desmond, with a rather wild light in his eyes. "I sent him back at six o'clock to wait here for me. They did not tell me he had not come. I have been expecting him ever since I arrived."

Odeyne hurried away and made the needful inquiries; but no one had seen Garth. Last of all she went to the door of their room and knocked. Instantly it was opened by Alice, who looked like a ghost, but had made no attempt to undress or go to bed.

"No, she had seen nothing of her husband, she said, nor had any message or note reached her. She was shaking like an aspen, but denied being ill.

"Then if you are not ill, Alice," said Odeyne, "come down and help me. I am not going to bed at all. Master Guy is poorly, and I shall take him home to the Chase first thing to-morrow. We shall not come back here any more, so there will be plenty for us to do. Your master has to go away on business, and will join us later. You and I will have all the arrangements to make, so we shall have our hands full."

Odeyne had no room in her mind for troubling herself over the missing jewels; it seemed to her that it was only one bubble upon a whole sea of mystery and trouble. Alice crept, white and trembling, after her mistress, and was closely and sharply questioned by Desmond as to her husband's movements; but it was plain she knew nothing, and was consumed by fears she dared not put into words. Desmond turned away from her with a few bitter words, the meaning of which was not understood by Odeyne, though Alice shrank at them as though struck by a sharp blow.

"Give me those pearls you wear," he said abruptly, "and anything of value that may be left you. And let me have the money quick. I must not delay longer now."

With a terribly sinking heart Odeyne opened her cash-box and jewel drawer, unfastened the string of pearls from her throat, and taking the stars from her hair at the same time. Desmond thrust the notes and valuables into a small bag he carried with him, and then took up the portmanteau himself and carried it from the room, staggering a little, like a man walking in a dream.

Odeyne sprang after him, closing the door behind her. There was a light burning on this landing, but the rest of the house was dark, Odeyne having dismissed the servants to bed by her husband's desire, when she went to inquire for Garth.

"Desmond, Desmond," she cried piteously, "what is it? Oh, what is it? Have not I, your wife, the right to share the trouble, whatever it may be?"

He took her suddenly in his arms and kissed her passionately again and again.

"So you will, my poor innocent darling--so you will!" he answered. "God forgive me; for I can never forgive myself! Would to heaven I had listened to you before, my faithful little wife! To think that it has come to this. O my God!--forgive me my wickedness, and visit not my sin upon her innocent head!"

A great terror came over Odeyne, and she clung to him with frantic hands.

"Desmond!--Desmond!--don't leave me! Take me with you! I am your wife. We took each other for better for worse. I have the right to be at your side through everything! Take me with you, if you must go!"

He clasped her to his breast, and yet after one long embrace he put her from him.

"It cannot be. I will come back--if I can--if I dare. But you must stay here--with the boy. He will comfort you for the evil your husband has done you. For better for worse; when was it you spoke those words before, and I made such a confident boast? Was it in this life, or in another I have almost forgotten? Oh, my wife, that it should come to this! Why, why was I such an arrant fool?"

He smote his brow with his hand. The bitterness of his remorse was pitiful to see. The longing to comfort him gave to Odeyne strength in the midst of her weakness and bewilderment.

"Dearest," she said, "I think you trusted too much in yourself; you did not look to God for help, guidance, strength to resist temptation. Perhaps this trouble will bring you to Him, as happiness never did. Oh, my darling, I pray it may be so! Do you pray also for yourself. God is very good; He punishes, but He forgives. I shall pray for you night and day till you come back to me. But oh, Desmond--husband--do not leave me long! I cannot bear it!"

The strain was becoming too much. Odeyne felt a mist rising before her eyes; her head swam; she hardly knew when Desmond laid her upon a couch on the landing and hastily called to Alice. What happened after that she never clearly remembered, but presently knew that the grey light of the summer dawn was stealing through an open window near her head, and that Alice was chafing her hands and holding a glass to her lips; but Desmond was gone.

Now they were in the train, rushing swiftly through the smiling country, back to the home towards which Odeyne's heart had turned with such longing all these past weeks, but which would be terribly empty and lonely now till Desmond came back.

Alice and Hannah were with her, and little Guy, looking roused and better already for getting beyond the region of London smoke. The men-servants had remained behind. Odeyne had paid them their wages and dismissed them. They appeared perfectly prepared for this, and some instinct warned her that she had better reduce her establishment as quickly as possible. She was not able to think connectedly yet; but in her heart of hearts she was aware that some financial crash had taken place, and that she must prepare herself for changed circumstances. That was in itself a matter of small consequence to her. Great wealth had brought little real joy to Odeyne. She could live more happily in a cottage than she had lived in her grand London house. But oh, if others should suffer loss and poverty from any act of her husband's! That was the thought which kept her in an agony of trepidation and anguish. She thought of the words heard last night (could it have been only last night?--it seemed years ago now), and of the cloud of pitiful anxiety in the eyes of the young wife. Oh, it was impossible that Desmond could have done anything to involve others in trouble! He so kind and friendly to all! Oh, no!--that was altogether unbelievable!

But Guy would be there to meet her--Guy would tell her all. A little while ago she had felt almost embarrassed at the thought of the first meeting with Guy and Cissy; but that feeling was entirely swallowed up in the present pressing distress.

For Guy and Cissy had been married, and the Chase had been full of her own family and their guests, and yet she herself had only run down for the day, just to witness the ceremony, and to fly back to her many engagements, which Desmond would not or could not forego. She had done her utmost to arrange differently, but circumstances (or her husband's will) had been too strong for her; and although nobody had blamed her by so much as a look or a word, she had felt herself to be acting a heartless part, like some fine fashionable madam--not like the loving sister Guy had a right to expect in her.

But Guy would never think of that now. As soon as he knew she was in trouble he would come to her. She would send for him as soon as she got home. She felt she needed some strong presence near her; but she was startled to see him on the platform waiting for her, his face full of kindly concern, his eyes brimful of love, asking no questions, but seeing to everything for her, as though he were now her rightful protector.

Not till they were in the carriage together, the servants and child having been put into the luggage brougham, did she speak a word; and then she turned her white face and heavy eyes towards him and asked--

"Guy, how did you know?"

"Desmond wired from Dover early this morning. I had been prepared by Edmund two days before. He had heard things that made him very uneasy, and went to town on purpose to see Desmond and ask. After that he came to me here. My poor darling! what can I say to comfort you?"

Odeyne put her hand to her head.

"I don't understand, Guy; I don't know now what has happened. Only that we have been robbed, that Desmond has gone away for a little, and that something is wrong about the business."

Guy gave her a quick glance, and answered gently--

"Yes, there is something wrong about the business. I do not know the details myself yet. Perhaps you need never know them. We must just wait and see what happens. Sometimes things turn out better in the end than people think for. I hope you will not think that Cissy and I have been very officious, but we had Desmond's authority. Some of the superfluous servants have gone--including the housekeeper and the man-cook. They began to be very insolent and overbearing, and to spread damaging reports in the place. So they have been sent away."

"I am so glad," said Odeyne, rather wearily. "Desmond had so much to think of he forgot to name it. I seem only to want to be quiet, and to have you, Guy, and the boy--and--and--Desmond!" and then Odeyne's tears suddenly ran over, and she leaned back in the carriage and sobbed as though her heart would break.

He let her alone; and she was quiet and outwardly calm when they drew up at the familiar door. There was no retinue of servants to greet her to-day; but the warm clasp of Cissy's arms was more to her than any outward show of hired service, and Odeyne was so utterly worn out in body and mind that she let Cissy undress her and put her to bed, and quickly fell into the dreamless sleep of exhaustion, from which all hoped that she would not wake till outraged nature had recouped herself for all the pressure put upon her.

It was only after Odeyne was sound asleep in the darkened room that Cissy had time to turn her attention to Alice, who had utterly collapsed upon their arrival at the Chase, and was lying on her bed shaken, by storms of hysterical sobbing that seemed to tear her to pieces when they came upon her.

Cissy, as a doctor's daughter, knew how to treat the physical symptoms of the disorder, and Alice became more herself in time; but there was such despair in her eyes that Cissy's heart was touched, and bending over her she said--

"What is the matter, Alice? Is anything troubling you, beyond your mistress's troubles?"

Alice suddenly sat up and pushed the masses of damp hair out of her eyes.

"Oh, miss--I mean ma'am, I don't know how to bear it! I feel as though the shame and misery of it would kill me!"

"Now be calm, Alice; you will make yourself ill if you go on so; and for your mistress's sake you must bear up. She will need your loving care through this time of trouble. She has depended so upon you."

Alice wrung her hands together in mute misery.

"That is just it, ma'am--that is just it! She has been such a loving, gentle, trusting mistress, and I have deceived her--I have betrayed her trust!"

"Alice, what do you mean? I do not understand."

For a moment there was a great struggle in the girl's mind. Must she keep her terrible secret, or was it her duty to speak? She swayed to and fro in the tumult of her feelings; but the desire for human sympathy and counsel prevailed over all other considerations, and she cried out--

"Oh, ma'am, I am afraid--oh, I am terribly afraid--that it is my husband who has robbed them. He was always on at me about the jewels. He would have me let him have them to study the pattern. I was silly and vain past belief. I thought some day I would have such things to wear myself, and sometimes he would bring me home a necklet or bracelet just like one of the mistress's, and I would wear it at some party, and think I looked like her. Of course they were all shams, and I knew it, but they were very clever shams. I used to think he did it to please me, but I begin to see he had another purpose now. I couldn't make it out always--he was so keen to know so many things where the jewels were concerned; and I told him everything, and showed him everything, and contrived often to have them in my keeping for a bit, that I might please him by a sight of them. And so, ma'am--I fear now that he has got the real ones, and left the sham ones in their place. There's lots of times he could have done it, for I never would have suspected him of such a thing--never!--never!"

She broke down into sobbing again, and Cissy, who had heard something of the loss of the stones and the manner of their disappearance, was lost in astonishment at the tale. True, she had always felt an instinctive distrust of the man Garth, but she had never supposed him capable of such deliberate treachery as this. She felt deeply sorry for the unhappy wife, who, with all her little faults and vanities, had been loyal and devoted to her mistress all her life through.

"But, Alice, I am dreadfully sorry to hear this. And if this is so, where is your husband? Has he told you? How do you know?"

"My heart tells me," said Alice, with a mournful certainty that was more eloquent than any burst of tears. "Did you not hear? He has gone too. He was sent back with a message to my lady, but he never came. Nothing has been heard of him since. He did not even say good-bye to me. He had the jewels; he cared for nothing else. I shall never see him again! He used me to get his wicked will--and then he left me. He never really loved me--I have known that for a long time now. He admired me, and thought I should be a useful tool and dupe--that is all! He has said so in his sleep. He has showed me his evil heart. He has done now what will make him afraid ever to come back--unless he is caught and brought back! I shall never see him again, unless I see him in a felon's dock. And once I thought he loved me!"

She covered her face with her hands, and turned it to the wall. Her tears were all shed now; a dull lethargy was creeping over her. Cissy knew not whether to speak or to leave her alone, but the question was decided for her by a knock at the door; she opened it to find a maid standing without, who said--

"If you please, ma'am, the Captain and Miss St. Claire are here. I am afraid to disturb the mistress. I thought I had better tell you."

"The Captain" was the name Edmund went by in the household, where he was a great favourite. Cissy already felt as though she had gained a brother in him.

"I will come immediately," she said, and hastened downstairs.

The drawing-room door stood open, and within were Edmund and Maud, standing with grave, expectant faces, as though either the bearers or recipients of evil tidings. Maud moved hastily forward.

"Mother sent me, Cissy. She heard they had come back. She could not rest a moment; and Edmund drove me across. What has happened? and where is Desmond?"

"I don't know," answered Cissy gravely. "Odeyne does not know. I dare not say much--she is on the verge of a nervous fever. Desmond is gone off somewhere--she does not know where. Guy had a wire from him from Dover early this morning--that is the last we have heard of him."

Edmund whistled. Maud threw up her hands with a little gesture as of despair.

"He has absconded!" she exclaimed in a tone that was little above a whisper.